Connecting with the Roots

It was not a usual morning for Krish. That morning he was to travel with his father to their home in the village. The home where Ketan grew up before he ventured into the city in search of a dream. Sleepy and groggy, Krish dragged himself out of bed. On normal days he would wake up to a gradual dawn and a room full of sunlight but that day he woke up to his mom's voice, calling him from across the hallway as she prepared breakfast for Krish and Ketan to eat before they embarked on their daylong journey. Devi, now a retired teacher, used to be an energetic educator and a happy homemaker back then; a self made woman who left her home in the village as a teenager and built herself up in a respectable profession in the city. That morning, even though she worried about a day-long journey in travel conditions that would be harsh for an urban kid, she respected her husband's stance and was thus supportive.

Krish and Ketan waved goodbye to Devi and strode the walkway that ran though their meticulously kept front lawn. Krish's tangle of morning hair was tamed by a cap. Father and son continued to walk past their front gate until they found the first three wheeler and hopped in for their ride to the bus station. They got on to a bus that would take them to the nearest town to Ketan's village. From there they would have to make a two hour long journey in a shuttle, its wear and tear attributed to age and to its twice daily traversal of the gravel road that connected the village to the town.

Krish got onto the bus and lithely went to a window seat and sat down. Ketan climbed up and sat in the next seat. Krish was still sleepy yet excited about listening to his father's stories and peering into the changing sceneries through the window. The bus took off from the station as the dawn sky gradually filled with light. It was refreshing to not have to deal with the daytime city traffic. As the bus reached the outskirts, city living gave way to smaller homesteads. Then came the windy roads and the fresh morning smell of the forest. The bus finally left the forested hill and emerged into the plains and from there on the the rural landscape became a constant companion.

As the bus rolled down the narrow highway, Krish studied the scenes outside the window. Rice paddy fields stretched out in shades of green and yellow, meeting groves in the distant horizon. The rice was ripening and getting close to being harvested. Krish remembered a similar trip earlier when he saw farmers transplanting rice seedlings, one by one, in well irrigated paddy fields. Men and women working tirelessly under the strong sun, in the hot and humid weather, in every step of the paddy cultivation process to bring the staple to our food palates.

The idyllic setting and the breeze caressing his face as the bus moved along the straight roads lulled Krish to sleep, his head resting on his arm that was perched on the bus window. He was woken up by Ketan at the rest stop. The sun was strong over the head. Father and son freshened up, sat in the shade of a tree and ate lunch that Devi had packed. They were quickly ready to climb back onto the bus.

Once again looking outside the window of the moving bus, Krish took in the changing scenes. Arrays of bamboo groves. Coconut palm trees and their reflection in the pond. Ever so often Krish would see cozily tucked in clusters of cottages with thatched roofs. Plantain trees growing in abundance alongside the muddy brown of the unpaved roads that mostly supported foot traffic.

It was late afternoon when their travels on paved roads were over. Krish and Ketan hopped on the crowded local shuttle that rattled its way in the dusty road leading to the village. It had been a long day already and the arduous last leg of the journey was indeed a stretch. But, consumed by wanderlust and a strong optimistic attitude, the father-son duo experienced every bit of the rough, hot and humid ride. Disembarking the shuttle they walked up a dusty tree lined road towards a canopy of thatched houses that hugged a common courtyard. The pond in front was calm and serene as ever. Long blades of grass jutted out from the water here and there along the edges. Patches of flowers sprouted out between the rocks. Rays of light from the setting sun were cutting through the tall bamboo trees. Leading to the courtyard, the bamboo gate bars were partly open, some halfway taken off, the lowest bar still in place.

Krish and Ketan were eagerly greeted by their extended family members. Dusk was gradually settling over the village. Dinner was being prepared on clay stoves. Lanterns were ready to be lit. Krish sat on a wooden bench next to his grandmother. She was a very simple woman yet much ahead of her times in thoughts; a curious mind, an optimistic attitude towards life and a hidden, untapped storehouse of wisdom. Krish was exhausted from the day's travel yet thrilled about the next few days in the village with his grandma, uncle, aunts and cousins. He looked across at Ketan who was engaged in a conversation with his sibling. When their eyes met, his father's lips curved into a gentle smile. A smile that told Krish everything.

A lot has changed since then. Two decades later Ketan took his last breath. He never mentally relented to the terminal illness that had engulfed the last few years of his life. The family stood by him with unwavering devotion. I have heard that the candle burned the brightest before it went out. However, the way I see it, the candle never went out. It still burns bright. Krish continues to be a strong, sincere and dependable support for all who Ketan cared about or would have cared about. Even though Krish has ventured into a foreign land halfway across the globe, he continues to instill in his children the values of staying grounded and being connected to one's roots.

When the root is deep, there is no reason to fear the wind. "Don't search among the branches for what only appears in the roots", Ketan used to say, quoting the famous thirteenth century Persian poet, Rumi. Just like his father Krish exemplifies this knowledge in every walk of life.

I love my father and my grandfather.